


A Hard Day's Night

by Gaffsie



Series: Nights [4]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Blue Balls, Dom Betty Cooper, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Exhibitionist Betty Cooper, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 04, Sex Toys, Sexting, Sub Jughead Jones, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 07:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21370540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaffsie/pseuds/Gaffsie
Summary: Betty gives Jughead a challenge.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Series: Nights [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1252397
Comments: 10
Kudos: 113
Collections: 6th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	A Hard Day's Night

“I'm gonna miss you so much,” Jughead says, hugging Betty closer against his body.

They're lying in bed, enjoying their afterglow before he has to go back to Stonewall Prep again for the week.

Betty lifts her head from his chest. Her tongue darts out to lick her lower lip, coy and tempting.

“I was thinking,” she says, raising her eyebrow in challenge, and, _fuck_, that shouldn't be allowed when she's naked and glowing with satisfaction; his poor libido just can't take it.

He smiles up at her, and he knows he looks like a love-sick fool, but that's okay; truth in advertising, and all that.

He tugs playfully at one of her loose golden curls, watching the way it bounces back in place.

“Yeah?” he asks, intrigued by the puckish look on her face.

She trails a finger over his chest, tracing a pattern between the hickeys she left there earlier.

“You're gonna be away all week,” she says, with a hint of a pout in her voice, “being brilliant, away at your fancy new school,” and he can't help the way he smirks at that small affirmation. She's always been his biggest cheerleader – that's why he keeps that picture of Betty in her cheerleader uniform in his room, even if Betty likes to imply it's for other, more prurient, reasons.

“I'll be back on Friday night,” he reminds her, “come hell or high water.”

“Do you think you could, you know, not touch yourself until then?” Betty asks him, looking at him from under lowered lashes, lips pressed together in a pout.

He's always startled by how forward his girl can be; not that he doesn't love her kinky side, just like he loves everything else about the many parts that make up the irresistible whole of Betty Cooper.

Jughead doesn't pretend not to understand what she means. He's capable of deciphering context clues, after all. He still gives it some serious thought before answering though, because Betty doesn't want him to agree blindly to everything she suggests.

_What is one week, really_, he thinks.

When he was homeless he frequently went longer without getting himself off. With the hunger, cold and isolation, he rarely felt an inclination to.

_It probably will be harder now_, he thinks, knowing that he's got Betty waiting for him at home.

“Okay,” he finally says. “I can last a week without masturbating.”

“That easy?” Betty says, lifting her head from his chest, and she almost looks disappointed, the little minx.

“Not if you're still allowed to,” he chuckles.

“Good,” she says, snuggling back down into his embrace. “It gets me so hot thinking about you being desperate for me when you get back next week.”

“Betty-,” he says. He thinks, _I'm always desperate for you_, but he supposes she already knows.

“I'm gonna come so hard thinking about what I'm going to do to you,” Betty says, and Jughead can feel his cock twitch against his thigh at the teasing tone of her voice, his brain already filling up with images of her, in the shower, using that nifty pink vibrator she bought herself for Christmas, getting off on his suffering.

“Betty,” he whines, and she lifts her head from his chest, her smile wicked and irresistible.

“Guess I should give you some incentive, huh?” she says, and then she moves down his body, giving him just that.

~*~

The first night is easy.

He's exhausted anyway, since he stayed in Riverdale for as long as possible before making the drive to Stonewall. He barely even makes curfew, and the rest of the night is a blur of preparations for tomorrow's seminar.

The first morning is also easy. His morning wood goes down on the way to the communal bathroom, the cold stone floor killing his erection as effectively as any cold shower, and the rest of the day flies by in a blur of classes and petty arguments with Bret.

He's studying in his dorm when his phone goes off, buzzing against the oak desk. It's an IM from Betty, and, curious, he opens it immediately.

It's a picture of her in one of his S-shirts. In _only_ one of his S-shirts, judging by the tantalizing glimpses of the dark curls he can see below the hem of the shirt.

He looks around the room, a little wildly, even though he knows he's alone, his mouth completely dry all of a sudden.

He can see that she's typing something, and he watches, hypnotized by those three little blinking dots.

“Miss you,” pops up on the screen, and then a new picture, this time of her pink vibrator working between her thighs.

Jughead shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his clothes feeling way too tight. He tugs at his tie, trying to get some room to _breathe_.

“Unfair,” he types, after a moment.

“I know,” comes the instant reply, followed by a winky face, and Jughead closes his book with a groan, the collected letters of Jane Austen feeling like a lost cause right now.

She keeps sending him occasional teasing messages all through Tuesday and Wednesday, and by their mid-week Skype session, Jughead's a wreck.

He's hung a tie on the door handle, knowing that Bret will give him shit for camming with his girlfriend if he finds out, but not really caring.

It doesn't help his frazzled state that, when they finally connect, after a long and frustrating day, Betty's wearing her black balconette bra; the one she always wears when she's in a particularly playful mood.

“Have you been good for me?” she asks him, a bit of a stern edge to her voice that makes Jughead even harder in his, thankfully, loose boxers.

“Always,” he says, soft and sincere.

“Did you like the pictures I sent you?” She smiles at him, a little bashful, and Jughead hurries to reassure her.

“You're not making this easy for me,” he admits, pleased at the way her eyes light up at his admission.

“Tell me about it,” she suggests, voice so light that he knows it's not a suggestion at all.

She looks expectant, sitting curled up in front of her laptop in her lacy black lingerie, blonde hair free from its ubiquitous pony-tail. Her lipstick is red tonight, he notes.

Jughead always feels strangely outmatched during these sessions, with Betty dressed up in her favourite lingerie, her make-up just a little bolder than usual, while Jughead is just in his usual checkered boxers. Hat off, of course, but it's not like he ever wears it when it's just the two of them anyway.

“Yesterday, it came pretty close,” he admits. “I was in the shower, and you'd just sent me that picture of you in front of the mirror, and I couldn't stop thinking about it.”

“Did you touch yourself?”

Jughead presses his lips together, a little embarrassed at his weakness.

“Yes,” he says, looking down at the bed, where his hands are anxiously picking at the bedspread.

“Sweetheart,” she coos at him, “look at me.”

He does, forcing his gaze away from the uninspiring view of his bedspread. It's so hard to look into her eyes like this.

“Tell me,” she says again, moving her hand down towards her lace panties, her painted lips twisting into a smirk.

“God, Betty,” he moans, and she smiles at him, pleased and inscrutable as a sphinx.

“Tell me.” This time, it's definitely an order, and Jughead swallows and tries to gather his thoughts.

He wants to make it sexy for her, but he's not really sure how.

“It just, uh, popped into my head, you know? How fucking gorgeous you looked, and it got me so hard.”

He tries to think back, recollecting the details.

“I was soaping myself up, and I got to my dick, and then I kind of... lingered.”

He can feel himself blushing, and it's a struggle not to avert his eyes again, but he knows that Betty wouldn't like that, so he locks his gaze on her face again, drinking in the way her eyes have grown dark as she listens to him.

He chances a glance down, and sees that her fingers are inside her panties now, no doubt rubbing circles on her clit the way she likes.

He swallows, feeling hot with thwarted want. He has to close his hands into fists to keep from touching himself.

“I was thinking about the way I could see your nipples through your camisole, and I remember wondering if the front of your panties looked dark because of the shadows or if you were wet.”

He licks his lip, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

“I thought about finding out, wondering if you'd let me finger you like that, in front of the mirror, how amazing you'd look. And-”

“And?” Betty prompts him, playful now. She reaches over and fiddles with the camera, and then it's angled at her lap, giving him an excellent view of her pulling her panties off, revealing her cunt to the camera and to him.

He can't bite back his whimper, and Betty giggles at him, spreading her thighs so he can't miss the way she's pushing her fingers inside herself, the way they glisten with her arousal when she pulls them out again.

“I didn't even notice I was doing it,” he defends himself. “I was thinking about playing with your clit the way you like, and, I guess I started mirroring it on my cock.”

“You guess?” Betty's voice is arch, and Jughead swallows. He can't look away from the way she's fucking herself with her fingers. He knows she can't come from that, and it's driving him a little crazy.

“Aren't you gonna use your toy?” The question slips out without any real input from his brain, but it makes Betty laugh, so it's okay.

“Do you think you've earned that?” she asks him, tilting her head curiously, and he's honestly not sure he has. He's tried to be good for her, but there was that one slip-up.

“I don't know,” he admits.

“Finish telling me your story, and you can watch me get myself off,” Betty decides, so regal, and he loves her like that, all that calm strength she hides from the world.

“I was rubbing the head,” he tells her, and it's embarrassing talking about himself like this, but also weirdly hot, the way Betty is responding to it, the way she's fucking herself with her fingers as she listens to him.

“I was getting pretty close too, but then I remembered that you hadn't given me permission.”

“And then?” Betty asks, her fingers rubbing at her clit again, making Jughead feel almost dizzy with want.

“I stopped,” he says, simply. “I knew I couldn't walk through the hall with a hard-on, so I took a cold shower until it went away.”

He smiles, a bit wryly, at the memory. “It was a good thing I did, too, because while I was drying my hair Bret walked in.”

He bites his lip. “Are you mad?”

“No,” Betty reassures him. “You can't help the way your body reacts. You remembered your promise and stopped; that's the important part.”

Her hand moves out of frame for a second, and then it returns, holding the vibrator.

“You've definitely earned this,” she says. “Just don't touch yourself.”

“I won't,” Jughead says, with the wide-eyed sincerity he knows she enjoys.

He wishes he could see all of her; enjoy the way her chest flushes red and her eyes flutter when she's nearing orgasm, and he bites his lip, feeling conflicted. It feels like that might be asking for too much, when she's already granting him this, despite his fuck-up in the shower.

Betty notices, because she's observant like that.

“Is there anything you want?” She asks him, even as she's dribbling some K-Y Jelly over the silicone. He can _hear _the smirk in her voice, and he wishes he could see it as well.

“Can you tilt the camera back to the way it was?” he asks. “I'd like to see all of you.”

“Juggie,” Betty says, her voice warm, and then she's reaching out and adjusting the camera angle so he can see her face too.

“Thank you,” he says, drinking in her smile.

“Enjoy it,” she says, cocky now, eyebrow raised in challenge, “but not_ too _much.”

She winks at him, and then she turns on the vibrator. It buzzes to life, and Jughead watches with rapt attention as she brings the head to her clit, his eyes darting between her spread thighs and her face, which is scrunched up in adorable concentration.

She breathes out as the vibrations hit her, and he watches as she lets the vibrator do the work for her, her quiet little sighs and moans as she gets more worked up.

She's watching him as she gets off, half-lidded eyes drinking in his reactions, panting mouth smiling when Jughead's breathing gets heavier.

His dick is so hard, and if he could just _touch_, take the pressure off – but he promised her he wouldn't, even though his dick is almost pulsing with need, bordering on painful.

He closes his eyes, tries to adjust his breathing, trying to tune out the silent buzzing of the vibrator and Betty's small subvocal moans of pleasure, but Betty brings him back to the present.

“Jughead,” she says, a little exasperated, and Jughead's eyes snap open. Betty doesn't look mad, but her eyes are boring into him in a way that suggests that obedience is the better option here.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “It's just hard-”

He flinches a little at his choice of word, but it makes Betty smile at him, and it does nothing so much as bringing to mind the image of a debauched goddess giddy with triumph.

“Let me see,” she says, nothing coy about it, and Jughead can feel his flush deepening.

He doesn't even attempt to argue, just pulls down his boxers until they're bunching up around his thighs, his hard cock springing up. He prays that, if Bret decides to come home early tonight, he respects the tie-system enough not just to barge in on him. Forget being buried alive or his other forms of harassment; Bret seeing him like this would be the one thing to make Jughead leave Stonewall in disgrace.

“Poor baby,” Betty coos at him. Her eyes are sparkling.

She must increase the intensity of the toy, because the buzzing gets a little louder, Betty's body twitching in response, her mouth falling open on a moan.

It makes Jughead groan, in turn. She's just so fucking hot like this, master of her own pleasure, and of his, and it's the sweetest kind of torture, knowing he's not allowed to ease his own suffering.

She's close, Jughead can tell, and it has to be a struggle for her to keep her eyes open at this point. Her eyes are slitted like a cat's, watching him fall apart at the sight of her pleasure.

As if on cue, her free hand snakes up to her chest, tugging roughly at one rosy nipple through the lace fabric of her bra, and her plump lips curl up in a smile when Jughead thoughtlessly mirrors the action on himself, that small edge of pain only serving to heighten his own arousal.

It makes him whimper, and he forces his hand back down on the bed.

“You like that?” Betty asks, and he nods, a little jerkily.

“Do it again,” she orders, and Jughead brings his hand back up to his chest, toying with his nipples the same way she is, craving relief and knowing none is forthcoming.

“I'm so close,” she moans, head falling back, and it's a struggle not to touch his aching dick when she's so gorgeous; completely gone on her pleasure, her voice breathy and her body flushed.

Her moan when she finally comes, her whole body bowing with the force of her orgasm, is the most beautiful sound in the world, loud and unrestrained and sated, and witnessing Betty like that is almost as good as coming himself, knowing that he played a part, however small, in getting her there.

“That was amazing,” she says, turning off the vibrator and stretching like a cat, and Jughead can only watch, his dick so hard that it's almost painful. He used to think that guys that talked about blue balls were just rape-datey assholes, but he kind of gets it right now.

“Was it good for you too?” she asks him, ruthless and sexy the way only Betty can be.

Jughead just stares at her, and wordlessly gestures at his erection, the way it's curving up against his stomach and smearing precome against his happy-trail.

She gives him an approving smile.

“See you on Friday,” she chirps, faking innocence.

She turns off the feed before Jughead has a chance to reply, and he's left sitting alone and naked and desperately turned on.

“Fuck,” he says, to no one in particular.

Jughead tugs his boxer shorts up over his hips again, hissing at the way it feels when the fabric brushes against his sensitive cock.

He's seriously considering walking down the hall to take his second cold shower of the day when his phone buzzes to life on his nightstand.

It's a message from Betty, saying, “Here's a reward for being so good for me,” and a picture of her wearing a pair of his sleep-pants - wearing _only_ his sleep-pants.

_A cold shower it is_, he decides.

It's going to be a long two days.

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just hope Charles only monitors their phone-calls. Otherwise Big Brother will be watching in a very literal way. :P


End file.
